Yesterday the rain fell softly on the roof, drumming gently in the sweet rhythm of spring. At one point, I walked outside, and although still a tad chilly, I could smell it.
Just faintly…an echo of last year’s warmth and a tease of tomorrow. Nudging my memory and whispering, “spring smells like this.” An earthy, wet and lush scent that wafts in slowly and surely.

It doesn’t smell like summer.
Summer is completely different. More complex. It has history in its dewdrops and dust around its edges. Summer is a lily. Strong, colourful, ribald. Sure and ripe.

It’s cared for and documented, lest we forget.
It’s eye achingly beautiful, so we won’t.

It’s urgent, and come hither. And it’s stop, don’t you dare.

It’s love me, leave me…
and I’ll be back, right behind my pale sister, Spring.
Wait for me.